


The Virgin and The Fool

by katineto (mistalagan)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: 99.8 percent less sad than my last work that involved human sacrifice, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Ice Skating, Human Sacrifice?, I refrained from titling this 'the dicker man', M/M, Viktor Is Smart But Also Kinda Not, alas no smut, as far as I know there is no actual festival like this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-09-12 10:23:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16871188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mistalagan/pseuds/katineto
Summary: “Virgin sacrifice?” Viktor repeats dumbly, certain he’s misheard, or that the corner-store clerk’s English isn’t quite as good as he’d thought. “Yuuri?”“Oh yes. Katsuki Yuuri, his family runs Yutopia. The onsen,” she says in flawless English, as if she (and everyone else in town) doesn’t know perfectly well how much time Viktor spends hanging around said onsen. “Everyone’s quite looking forward to the festival. You’ll still be around, won’t you?”“Uh,” Viktor says, still lost. Murder is illegal in Japan, right?--In which Yuuri is going to be sacrificed, and Viktor is going to save him.





	The Virgin and The Fool

“Virgin sacrifice?” Viktor repeats dumbly, certain he’s misheard, or that the corner-store clerk’s English isn’t quite as good as he’d thought. “ _Yuuri?_ ”

“Oh yes. Katsuki Yuuri, his family runs Yutopia. The onsen,” she says in flawless English, as if she (and everyone else in town) doesn’t know perfectly well how much time Viktor spends hanging around said onsen. “Everyone’s quite looking forward to the festival. You’ll still be around, won’t you?”

“Uh,” Viktor says, still lost. Though he’s technically on a sabbatical of limited duration, he hasn’t really put much thought to leaving. “Yes, I think so. _Yes_ ,” he says more firmly, “Can you tell me more about it?”

The virgin sacrifice, apparently, is to ensure fertility, and it happens every year.

(He supposes Hasetsu is probably big enough to provide a virgin every year, demographically speaking, but it’s also big enough for something like this to have gotten out. Made the local news. Made the _global_ news.)

Viktor wanders out of the store clutching his purchase tightly, with the uncomfortable feeling that perhaps idyllic Hasetsu is not what it seems.

-

“ _Yuu_ ri, can I ask you a question? About the festival?” Yuuri is cute when he flushes, and Viktor takes a moment to admire the view before tackling the topic further. “The sacrifice part, I mean.”

“Uh,” Yuuri says, clearly nervous, “What—what did you want to know?”

Viktor pauses, because he has all sorts of questions, like _how is it possible that human sacrifice has survived to this day and age_ and _why isn’t your family at all concerned about this_ and _would you like to come away with me, right now, we can fake your death and change your name_ , but what comes out is, “Why?”

Yuuri’s shoulders hunch, and he shrugs defensively. “I mean, it has to happen at some point, right? It might as well be planned.”

Yuuri has never struck him as needlessly fatalistic before. “But, I mean,” Viktor stutters onward, “You volunteered?”

“Yes,” Yuuri says, now focusing on the towels he’s folding with single-minded intensity, “There’s an application process, actually.”

Viktor came to Hasetsu because he threw a Sharpie at a wall-sized map. He threw a Sharpie at a wall-sized map because he was bored and frustrated and lonely, and he was bored and frustrated and lonely because it was 1:38 PM on a Sunday and he was at work alone, and he was at work alone at 1:38 PM on a Sunday not because he had too much to do but because he had nothing else to do, and nowhere else to go, and his only sort-of friend had transferred back to Switzerland, and his dog was at the groomers and she always seemed happier to see the groomer than she was to see Viktor, anyway, and…

Look, Viktor has had low points, recently, but never has he had a point so low that he sat down and applied to become his city’s annual virgin sacrifice. And not just because he isn’t a virgin, either.

Yuuri is snorting, self-deprecatingly. “You know,” he says, “I spent five years in _college_ , in _Detroit_ , and it didn’t even happen then.”

Viktor’s heard that there are parts of America that are very dangerous, but he had no idea it was that bad. “Oh,” he responds, for lack of something better to say.

Yuuri glances at him, sideways, and mutters quietly, “I guess if I’d known you maybe I wouldn’t have applied.”

_“Oh?”_ Viktor says, feeling first a bright flash of warmth ( _Yuuri likes me!_ ) and then a horrible gnawing sense of guilt. “Well, can’t you just—not do it? Can you drop out?” If there’s an application process there must be runners-up, right?

Yuuri shakes his head. “It’s too close to the festival. One girl a few years ago lost her virginity a month out,” he says, “And there wasn’t really time to find another, so people were pretty upset.”

Viktor considers that possibility. “What happened to her?”

“Mmm,” Yuuri shrugs, “Well, she’s not around anymore.” A slight pause. “They went through with it anyway, of course.”

“…Oh,” Viktor says, feeling a bit sick. “We, uh, don’t really do these sorts of things, where I come from,” he says carefully. “Actually, I think it’s been illegal for, um, at least several centuries. Probably longer.”

“ _Really,_ ” Yuuri says, as if the lack of virgin sacrifices was merely a curious cultural difference, but their illegality was a matter of concern.

Murder is illegal in Japan, right?

He looks it up, and murder is _definitely_ illegal in Japan. He’s halfway to the local police station when he realizes that, according to all the small-town-with-a-dark-secret movies he’s watched (three, plus episodes of several TV shows), they are most likely not only aware of but also active participants in the whole thing.

He tries Fukuoka instead, and the nice young officer there listens to him patiently. “Do you believe he’s being coerced?” she asks, “Blackmailed, threatened?” Brainwashed, he tries to explain, while her smile grows politer. “Of course you’re welcome to follow up,” she says, “but as long as the act is consensual for all parties there’s not much we can do.”

When he leaves, he swears he can hear her snickering.

Going to the authorities plainly will not work. Viktor will have to take matters into his own hands.

-

The first step is always to do your research. Viktor stops by the small visitor’s center, where Yoshiyuki-san sits behind the desk and reads paperbacks all day and is invariably surprised when anyone walks in. He gives a little start when the door chimes, and relaxes when he sees Viktor. Viktor gives him a big smile. “Good morning!” he says, “Do you have any information about the spring festival?”

Yoshiyuki-san’s eyes track towards the display of glossy brochures next to the desk. Indeed, two of them are just about the festival. Viktor takes one of each in all three languages represented, and the regional tourism magazine also. “Thank you!” he chirps, and Yoshiyuki-san nods before going back to his book.

Unfortunately, and perhaps predictably, the official material is rather light on details. It describes the festival itself well enough, but in the brochures the only mention of the sacrifice goes: _the festivities culminate in a private ceremony performed by two of the townsfolk chosen to represent a local fertility spirit. Catch a glimpse of them in traditional clothing before they enter the shrine!_ The magazine is scarcely better. Nor is the internet, though he does track down a blurry image of a previous sacrifice. The young woman, her face indistinct, is dressed in gauzy white—at her side looms another figure in a bright blood red.

(The Japanese dress their dead in white kimonos, as Viktor learns during his web search. He shivers.)

Next, he tries the local library, where he finds three books relevant to his search. One is a children’s book with lovely watercolor illustrations and very little useful information—though it _does_ depict the sacrifice in the final pages, he notices, dressed in the same outfit as the picture, as well as the other person involved. A priest or shrine maiden, Viktor assumes, with a big cheerful smile on her face.

The children’s book, of course, is by far the easiest to read. Viktor came here conversant in the kind of Japanese he’d needed for business, and that the kind of business where any important documents would be translated into Russian for him anyway. Over the course of months, he’s managed to pick up not only a reasonable amount of the kind of everyday Japanese useful in grocery stores but also a surprisingly broad array of more obscure words and phrases. He puzzles through the second book, which turns out to have only two short paragraphs on the tradition, both of which gloss over any details beyond what he already knows.

The third and final book is really just a collection of articles, one of which is about the history of such localized ceremonies. It’s written in dense academic prose, with chunks of primary sources quoted throughout which the author doesn’t bother to translate from archaic Japanese. One of the chunks, he’s pretty sure, is about Hasetsu and its virgin sacrifice.

Jackpot.

He acquires a temporary library card, and checks out the book (which judging by the card tucked inside its front cover was last checked out almost twenty years ago). He also checks out two dictionaries—one professing to translate from modern Japanese to its Early Middle equivalent and back, and the other a heavy-duty Russian-to-Japanese far superior to the travel version he actually owns.

With the aid of his dictionaries, the internet, and a few texts to a very confused Yuuri ( _um I had to look it up I don’t know the english sorry it’s like, studying how people think about their society and culture? why??)_ , Viktor painstakingly muddles through a translation of the quote and its surrounding text. The latter turns out to be mostly useless for his purposes. The former is a description of the ceremony.

_The virgin_ [lit. young maiden living in her parent’s household] _who is the best_ [proven superior over all others] _goes in veiled_ [or possibly just clothed] _to wait for the fulfillment_ [cleaving together, final shape] _of the spirit, who is chosen_ _from among the old_ [or: artisan, one having sufficient experience to be considered a master of their craft]. _When he removes_ [tears away, destroys] _her veil_ [covering, illusion] _then no one else may see_ [witness or be present] _. Swiftly he must pierce her through the heart_ [interior, core] _with his knife_ [or spear; lit. long, thin object] _, until blood_ [lit. water of life] _spills forth, and when she_ [he? or does this mean when she dies?] _is done_ [finished; also, content with the quality of work] _present her body to the people. Performed skillfully without pain this brings great joy_ [or luck, good fortune] _to the town. A poor ceremony is ruinous._

Some old man is going to stab Yuuri through the heart with a knife (or possibly spear), and everyone in Hasetsu is going to be happy about it. Viktor doesn’t understand how it wouldn’t be painful, but maybe whoever does the deed practices their execution skills, or maybe Yuuri will be sedated. Or maybe, since the ceremony’s performed in private, it doesn’t really matter as long as it’s quick.

He has to find a way to stop this. He’s _going_ to find a way to stop this.

-

“I probably won’t go,” Mari says when asked, “It’s a little weird when it’s your brother, you know?”

“Have you ever tried to convince him not to?” Viktor presses, hoping he’ll find an ally in Yuuri’s protective big sister.

She snorts. “Have you ever tried to convince Yuuri not to do something? Anyway, it’s his choice. If that’s how he wants it to go, that’s how it’ll go.”

Viktor had thought the Katsuki family was loving and supportive. Mari’s apparent indifference to her brother’s plight sends chills down his spine.

-

The second step is to make sure he’s discreet. Discretion is important. If he kicks up too much of a fuss, he’s going to end up with a face full of bees, and that won’t help anyone. He needs to be subtle, and strike when they least expect it.

He learns that he’s utterly failed at this step when he walks into the Ice Castle, buys admission to the public session, turns toward the locker room and runs smack dab into Takeshi’s broad frame. The man’s arms are folded, and he’s looking at Viktor with a stern glare.

Viktor backs up and checks behind himself for escape routes. Yuuko, still at the counter, is also staring at him. She’s smirking. He could try to dash out the door. Yuuko might not be able to get there before him…

“I hear you’ve been asking about the festival,” Takeshi says, and Yuuko giggles. Viktor’s never been so intimidated in his life.

“Uh,” he says. “Purely, uh, academic curiosity.”

“Mmhmm,” Takeshi says, “I bet it is.” He grins, claps Viktor on the shoulder, and steers him to a bench. Viktor sits. Takeshi stands in front of him. “Yuuri’s a great guy,” he says, and waits for a response.

_The best_ , Viktor doesn’t say, _a wonderful person, possibly my destined soulmate and the light of my life._ “Yes,” he agrees instead, fervently.

“But he’s also a stubborn bastard,” Takeshi continues, “And he doesn’t always know what’s good for him.”

Viktor’s heart leaps—

“Did you know I was picked to be the spirit’s incarnation one year?”

—and promptly spirals down to somewhere in the vicinity of his knees.

Takeshi’s _killed_ someone.

Viktor’s pulse beats loud and fast. Now that he looks at him again, he can see it. He can imagine Takeshi killing. Again. _Foreigner’s body found dumped in the ocean_ , he can see it now. Yakov will be so disappointed in him, running off and getting murdered.

“I mean, it helps that I had a leg up, but I’d bet anything you do too.” Takeshi winks. Viktor is confused.

“What?” he says, still halfway convinced he’s about to be disposed of.

“Look, you just gotta get through the screening, and then we all know who Yuuri’s going to pick.”

“The screening?”

“I don’t think he knows,” Yuuko says behind him, and Viktor jumps. She slides onto the bench beside him. “Viktor, do you know how they pick the spirit’s incarnation?”

He shakes his head, stops, then quotes, “ _The fulfillment_ [cleaving together, final shape] _of the spirit, who is chosen_ _from among the old_ [or: artisan, one having sufficient experience to be considered a master of their craft]. Um. So I thought it had to be an old man? And…the people who pick the sacrifice pick him, too.” Takeshi’s not an old man, though. Is he?

Yuuko dissolves into giggles again.

“There’s a screening process first,” Takeshi explains, “I think it’s online now? You send in an application. And then if you’re in the top twenty or so you participate in a contest the day of the festival. And then the sacrifice—Yuuri—picks the winner.”

Yuuri picks the winner. _Yuuri_ picks the—

Viktor jumps to his feet. “How do I apply?” Can he apply? He’s not from Hasetsu…

There’s a buzzing in his pocket. Yuuko puts her phone away. “I texted you the link,” she informs him. “The deadline’s in two days.”

“You can embellish your application a little bit,” Takeshi advises. “I did.”

“You embellished your application a _lot_ ,” Yuuko says reprovingly.

 “Worth it,” Takeshi grins, and Viktor swallows down his fear of being in close proximity to such an unapologetic sociopath.

“How long does the, uh, ceremony take?” he asks Takeshi, thinking ahead. The amount of time they’ll have alone makes a huge difference in how Viktor should make the rest of his plans.

“That’s mostly up to you,” Takeshi says, like it’s some big joke.

“Sure, but—five minutes? Fifteen? An hour?”

Yuuko is giggling _again_.

“Five minutes would be a little embarrassing,” Takeshi says, “Don’t you think? You don’t have to get to the main event _right_ away. Nobody’s gonna bother you for at least an hour. Even two.”

_Two_ hours.

On the one hand, this is a good thing. Two hours gives them enough time to sneak out the back, drive to Fukuoka, and get on a plane.

On the other hand—what kind of horrible death by knife (or spear) takes two hours?

-

The third step, thus discovered, is to get himself in the running. To do so, he has to undergo a physical and send in his application. If he’s approved, he’ll be allowed to take part in the contest, and if he does well enough there he’ll be selected as the—the _executioner_. And then he’ll have a chance to spirit Yuuri away.

It’s a very thorough sort of physical, and the written application is even more thorough. Really, it’s like a particularly invasive job application—cover letter, resume, references. Measurements.

All kinds of measurements. Length _and_ girth.

He measures it in inches, rounds up, and then converts back to centimeters.

All kinds of references, too. He panics, because he has zero actual exes who would be willing to serve as a reference. It’s an optional category, but he has to win. Luckily, he knows a guy.

“We’ve never slept together,” Chris points out, “And what kind of job did you say this was for? Viktor, if you’ve run off to Japan to become a rentboy without me I’ll be very disappointed.”

“It’s not,” he sputters, “Look, it’s some sort of personality thing, it’s very important, I promise, _please_.”

Chris sighs. “If you say so.”

Upon further reflection, he suppose it makes sense that they’d be interested in the virility of someone who was apparently meant to represent a fertility god. He wonders if Yuuri had to give them this sort of information, too, and then spirals down a dangerous path of thinking about Yuuri’s measurements. It distracts him from the overwhelming worry about whether he’ll even get through the screening, at least.

-

“I saw you applied,” Yuuri says. The tips of his ears are pink, and his smile is tiny and  tremulous.

“Uh,” Viktor says intelligently, then freezes. Oh no. If Yuuri knows he applied, then he must think Viktor not only wants him dead, but also wants to personally make sure of it.

But if Yuuri makes the final choice, he'll know regardless. Viktor shouldn't waver.

“I can withdraw the application,” he blurts out anyway, “Yuuri, I—”

“No!” Yuuri cries. His gaze is fierce and determined. Viktor falls a little more in love. “No, I, I want you to—to do it.” He licks his lips. “Viktor? Will you try your best to win for me?”

“Always, Yuuri,” Viktor promises. _Yuuri picks the winner_.

-

He gets through the screening, and jumps for joy.

“You look happy today,” Mari notices, and he schools his face into something less ebullient.

The ceremony starts at eight in the evening. It’s an hour’s drive to Fukuoka. If he tracks down Yuuri’s passport, checks them in ahead of time, and breaks a few speed laws, they’ll be able to make it on a flight to Tokyo before anyone even notices they’re missing. He won’t even have to buy the hyper-realistic custom haunted house decorations and fake blood.

He just has to make sure Yuuri picks him.

Yuuko laughs at him for the umpteenth time. “I really don’t think that will be a problem,” she says, but agrees to help him with the preparations for the contest anyway.

“What is the contest, exactly?” he asks.

She waves her hand. “It’s like a pageant. It won’t be difficult. Oh! Takeshi will have teach you how to tie a fundoshi...”

-

He takes Yuuri on a date the day before the festival.

Well, it’s not exactly a date. It’s a trip to Fukuoka, since Viktor had mentioned he hadn’t really spent time there yet, and Yuuri had mentioned he’ll have a day off, and why don’t they go together? Nobody actually said the word ‘date’.

“We just can’t miss the last train,” Yuuri says when they get there, perusing the schedule.

Viktor gets a brilliant idea.

They wander along the artificial beach, gorge themselves on ramen, rent swan-shaped paddle boats and wind up soaking wet. (The ticket seller looks at them judgmentally when they return).  After they dry off, Yuuri finds a big showroom and drags him inside, wandering around the displays of experimental robot designs before making a beeline right for a furry robotic dog. “It looks just like Makkachin!” Viktor enthuses, playing with the demo.

“I’d love to meet Makkachin one day,” Yuuri says with a forlorn sigh, and Viktor’s heart clenches.

“You will,” he promises. He has tickets from Fukuoka to Tokyo, from Tokyo to Helsinki, and from there to St. Petersburg.

Yuuri just smiles at him. They spend far too long with the dog, throwing a little ball for it to fetch. By the time they emerge, it’s already evening.

“Dinner?” Viktor offers, but Yuuri pats his stomach with a wry smile.

“I’m still pretty full,” he says, so they just walk through the city, brushing up against each other. A horde of people comes rushing out of a train station, and Yuuri presses closer, entangling Viktor’s fingers with his own. “Don’t want to get separated,” he says, flushing lightly. Viktor feels warm all over. They don’t let go of each other’s hand even when the group of people is dissipated.

They find a park with a secluded bench, and Yuuri nestles up right next to Viktor on it. “I’m a little cold,” he explains, so Viktor wraps one arm around him and holds on tight.

“I didn’t know what to do with myself,” Yuuri says, “After I got back from Detroit. So I’ve just been helping with the onsen, but…” he sighs. “I always thought I’d do more. I wanted to be a dancer, like Minako-sensei, but the pressure was just too much.” His voice goes low. “I choked in a really big audition, and my visa ran out, and I guess I just gave up.”

“Do you want to try again?” Viktor asks, with the uncomfortable feeling that the words must seem cruel from Yuuri’s perspective.

Yuuri doesn’t seem to mind. “I don’t know,” he says. “I thought I was done, but—“he looks at Viktor through half-closed eyes”—I think I’ve started to get my inspiration back. Although I’m really out of shape,” he laughs. “Minako-sensei was very upset.”

Viktor knows who would be able to get Yuuri an audition. He’s almost bursting with the need to tell him about her, but he doesn’t have a guarantee yet, and he doesn’t want to jump the gun. “I want to see you dance,” he says instead, “I’d love to see you dance.” Viktor’s own dreams of dancing on ice were dashed at the age of thirteen with multiple stress fractures and a final bad fall. He hasn’t felt that same weightless wonder that comes from leaping through the air and hoping he’ll land until he came to Hasetsu and found Yuuri.

“Maybe,” Yuuri says, a teasing lilt to his voice. He turns his head, and finds their faces very close together. Tantalizingly close.

Yuuri worries at his lip, then closes the distance between them.

“Mmph,” Viktor says, and Yuuri jerks back.

“I’m sorry,” he says, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t—I thought—“

“Yuuri,” Viktor interrupts, “Did you want to kiss me?”

Yuuri frowns and mutters, “I just tried to, didn’t I? You don’t have to make fun of me.”

Viktor imagines that his smile is blindingly bright as he pulls Yuuri’s face towards his. Yuuri stiffens, then melts, lips softening. Viktor mouths at his abused bottom lip, drawing it between his, runs his tongue along the seam. Yuuri opens his mouth willingly. He tastes of salty ramen broth and onion. His fingers clench on Viktor’s thigh. He whimpers when Viktor pulls away. “Viktoru,” he breathes, with an accent normally obscured by his years in America, then dives in again.

Viktor has no idea how long they sit there on the bench, trading kisses. Yuuri is quite good at kissing, actually, if a bit messy and overenthusiastic. “We’re in public,” he notes at one point as they stop for air.

“So?” Viktor replies, “There’s nobody around.”

“Probably because we scared them off,” Yuuri says, but obviously decides that it’s not a problem because he is soon back to his apparent goal of devouring Viktor’s soul through his mouth. Viktor happily lets him.

They’re startled away from each other when a clock somewhere in the city goes _clang, clang, clang_ and keeps going. Yuuri digs his phone out of his pocket and his eyes widen. “Viktor!” he cries, “We have to go, the train leaves in fifteen minutes!”

Viktor hadn’t even been thinking about his brilliant idea. He’d been far too distracted. Yuuri drags him by the hand through the park, through the streets. The city is lit up, but it’s much darker out. Viktor would dig in his heels, but his head is fuzzy and he’s focused on keeping up with Yuuri.

He thinks about pretending his shoelaces are untied, or that he lost his ticket, but his efforts are fruitless: Yuuri pulls him right into the station and onto the train.

“That was _close,”_ Yuuri laughs, panting against Viktor’s chest, “Mari would be so mad if she had to drive up here and pick us up.”

Ah. Well, his brilliant idea never would have succeeded in the first place, it seems. But Viktor is suddenly terribly sad: for all their conversation that night, verbal and non-, Yuuri still seems determined to hurry to his own murder.

-

Viktor doesn’t get very much sleep that night, and not only because they arrive back quite late. He has the tickets. He has the car, newly rented and parked close enough to the site of the ceremony without being too suspicious. He has the travel documents, a little bit of luggage—not enough missing for anyone to notice. A few earthly possessions are nothing compared to the worth of Yuuri’s smile. He has changes of clothes to disguise them, including surgical masks and hats. He has the instructions for the festival itself, which for him mostly involve showing up on time and waiting.

At this point, he gets to size up his competition. They’re a mix of men and women, all fairly athletic, and they look at Viktor with varying degrees of amusement, suspicion, and jealousy. They are definitely not old men. In fact, Viktor may well be the oldest person there. He treats them to a winning smile, and they look away. 

They usher the men and women into separate rooms, and hand out the long strips of cloth necessary to tie into traditional loincloths. They come in different colors and patterns. Viktor’s is striped in red, white and blue, which is a) a bit on the nose and b) not a good look for his skin tone.

Well, never let it be said that Viktor Nikiforov shies away from partial, or total, nudity for the sake of love. He strips down, and silently thanks the Nishigoris for teaching him how to tie the little cloth.

(His competitors, incidentally, are not shy about peering at Viktor’s assets as he changes.)

Next, they’re handed small bottles of sweet-smelling oil. The only thing possibly more objectifying, Viktor reflects as he thoroughly applies it to his exposed skin, would be a wet t-shirt contest. He’d say a literal dick-measuring contest, but he’s pretty sure they already did that part.

Viktor’s been told many times that he could have been a model. Now’s his chance to find out.

He and the other men parade outside in single file, where they meet with the women, similarly barely-clothed and glistening, and proceed up a set of stairs to a large outdoor stage. They’re greeted by whoops and wolf-whistles. Viktor confidently struts his way to his place in the lineup.

(He’s deeply suspicious of this selection process, as he sees no part of it—besides perhaps the display of muscles—that could accurately indicate who would be the best cold-hearted murderer.)

When Yuuri comes on stage, the shouts die down. He’s a vision in draping, silky white, graceful and elegant, barefoot and free of cosmetics. His cheeks are pink as he addresses the contestants. “Thank you for coming,” he says.

He steps up to them one by one, favoring each with a smile and a bow. “Thank you,” he says to each of them, and Viktor watches their faces fall as they turn and walk off the stage.

He comes to Viktor last, and Viktor’s heart beats terribly fast. Yuuri, flushing, offers him a small object. “Please, take care of me,” he says, and the crowd howls and cheers before Yuuri is spirited away, leaving Viktor frozen on stage.

The object is a knife—not, as it turns out, a spear. It’s elegantly enameled, with a small fixed blade, and Viktor can suddenly understand why it might take two whole hours to _pierce her through the heart_ [interior, core]... _until blood_ [lit. water of life] _spills forth_. His hand begins to shake, even as he keeps a smile affixed to his face.

-

They parade him through the town, and he does his best to act happy, excited, like the day-drunk people surrounding him. The tiny knife, clutched in one hand, carves an outsized hole in his heart.

Finally, they reach the small building where the ceremony takes place, and clear a path for him to follow.

He goes inside. The sounds from the crowd fade away.

The room is small, cozy, and well-lit, with most of the space within taken up by a large bed. Yuuri lies stretched along it, legs splayed, feet bare, still dressed in skimpy white. His sternum is bared temptingly by a deep V in the neck. He glistens with scented oil, much like what they’d laved Viktor with.

He smiles, bright and vibrant and beautiful and alive. “Hi,” he says. Viktor stops in his tracks momentarily, before the urgency of the situation reasserts itself.

He drops the knife on the bedspread and grabs Yuuri’s hands, pulling him to the edge of the bed. “We don’t have much time,” he explains, eyes darting to the curtained window. They’ll have to open it quietly, change behind the building, and sneak around the back to emerge a few blocks from his prepared car.

“Don’t we?” Yuuri asks, a note of humor in his voice. He squeezes Viktor’s hands in his, shifting on the bed. The edge of the material shifts with him, exposing his inner thigh.

Viktor is strong and will not be distracted. He shakes his head.

“You trust me, don’t you?” he asks.

Yuuri smiles. “Of course,” he replies, “Of course I do, or we wouldn’t be here, would we?”

There’s a lump in Viktor’s throat. “Then, please, just come with me, okay?”

Yuuri hesitates, but keeps smiling. “...Okay? Viktor, where are we going?”

The room might be bugged, but… “Fukuoka,” Viktor says, “And then St. Petersburg. I have everything ready. I’m not going to let this happen to you, Yuuri.”

Oh no, no, Yuuri is frowning, he’s pulling away slightly. “St. _Petersburg_? Viktor, I can’t just go to St. Petersburg—”

“You can,” Viktor insists, “You have to, Yuuri, you—” he swallows. “You mean everything to me. You—I was so adrift, until I met you. I didn’t think I had anything worth living for. And you just—I walked into the onsen, and I saw you, and I didn’t believe in love at first sight before, but Yuuri, I love you, you have to believe me, I can’t let you do this, I can’t let it end like this.”

Yuuri looks over to the door, and Viktor’s heart seizes—is he going to call for help? Does he think Viktor’s insane?

He extracts one hand from Viktor’s grip, only to rest it against his cheek. “Oh, Viktor,” he sighs. He’s starting to tear up, but his frown is beginning to tremble its way into a smile. “I still don’t understand why we need to go to St. Petersburg right now.”

“Wha—well, two hours,” he says, “They’re expecting it to be—done. In two hours.”

“Two hours?” Yuuri looks a little shocked. “Really?”

“At the _most_ ,” Viktor insists. “That’s what they said.”

Now Yuuri has a little smirk on his face, and Viktor can’t help but feel whiplashed. “I don’t know,” he says, “We might be able to make it more. I guess you’re the expert.”

“I am?” Viktor glances at the knife.

“Well, yes?” Yuuri laughs. “You had very good references, by the way. I’m a little jealous.”

“I—” Well, he’s not about to admit that his references were falsified right now. “Um.” No, he’s getting distracted. “Yuuri,” he croaks, finally, “I don’t know what I have to say to make you believe that your life is worth something. I told you it’s worth everything to me, and I understand if I’m not enough, but—”

“ _Wait wait wait_ , Viktor, what?”

“What?”

“Why do you think I don't think my life is worth something?”

Viktor frowns. “Well, you volunteered for this.”

“I don't follow.”

“I—you—” Viktor gestures feebly to the knife. “Why else would you volunteer?”

Yuuri looks at the knife. He looks at Viktor. He looks back at the knife. “Viktor,” he says slowly, “What exactly do you think this ceremony is?”

“A virgin sacrifice?”

Yuuri buries his face in his hands. His shoulders shake. Viktor can't tell whether he's laughing or crying.

“‘ _When he removes_ [tears away, destroys] _her veil_ [covering, illusion] _then no one else may see_ [witness or be present] _,’”_ Viktor quotes, forging on. “‘ _Swiftly he must pierce her through the heart_ [interior, core] _with his knife_ [or spear; lit. long, thin object]’ _,_ but I guess it's a knife, isn't it, ‘ _until blood_ [lit. water of life] _spills forth, and when she is done_ [finished; also, content with the quality of work] _present her body to the people._ ’”

“Wow,” Yuuri says, his voice muffled by his hands,  “I don't know anyone else who can actually recite that.” His hands fall away. His eyes are wide. The corner of his lip twitches. “So, what, you thought you were supposed to kill me?” 

“I wasn't going to actually do it!” Viktor protests.

“No,” Yuuri shakes his head, faintly, “You actually bought plane tickets, didn't you? You were going to save me from the evil cult.” He lets out a helpless titter. “Oh, Viktor. Stupid Viktor. I love you,” he adds.

Viktor sits there, stupefied. “So…” he begins.

“Viktor,” Yuuri says, “It’s not the sacrifice of a _virgin_. It’s the sacrifice of _virginity._ ”

“Yuuri,” Viktor says, who is suddenly quite aware of how scantily they’re clad, and is also stepping back over every interaction he’s had for the past month, “You handed me a knife.” 

“The blade’s _three centimeters long_.”

“It’s still a knife!”

“You’re supposed to use it to cut my clothes off!” 

“Those? I could tear those off with my bare hands!”

“Really?” Yuuri looks very interested.

“Yes!” Viktor stops. “Um, I mean. If, um.”

They stare at each other for a moment, both blushing for entirely different reasons.

“So,” Yuuri says, “I understand if you, uh, don’t want to go through with the ceremony. Since you didn’t really know what it was.”

“Yuuri,” Viktor says, firmly and proudly, “I would be honored to sacrifice your virginity.”

“Oh. Well, good.”

“Good,” Viktor parrots.

The thin fabric clings to Yuuri’s oiled, golden skin. He gleams in the light, thighs and chest bared, as he leans back on the bed. “Viktor,” he purrs, “Won’t you _pierce me through the core with your long, thin object_?”

“Not right away,” Viktor says, but before Yuuri looks too upset he clarifies, “We have almost two whole hours.” 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Viktor: Wow, I’m glad Takeshi isn’t a murderer!
> 
> Yuuri: ...We really need to re-evaluate your opinion of my friends and family.


End file.
